


Good Year

by CalmlessnesS



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Harry is a Gryffindor to the core, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Surprise Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 05:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14634669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalmlessnesS/pseuds/CalmlessnesS
Summary: Harry wakes up in the infirmary on the morning after the battle of Hogwarts and looks back on his life... well, a certain part of his life.





	Good Year

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a drabble I posted on ff.net a few years ago to celebrate the International Day of Good News but wasn't entierly happy with. Enjoy!

Bright sunlight filtered through large windows of the infirmary, casting beautiful stains of light on white ceiling and walls, so inappropriate for the occasion.

It was morning of 3rd may 1998 and room was full of people moaning in pain, crying children, parents howling over uncosionsious bodies of their daughters and sons. People generally hurting and grieving and Harry was about to join them in it.

His throat closing up, his eyes stinging with unshed tears, hands fisting the sheets. He was trying to resist but his heart was aching so much, trying to claw out of his chest, his mind full with thoughts of the past three years running before his eyes, flashes of dark hair in a pool of blood, black eyes staring emptily at him, broad chest hitching with the last effort to draw air into lungs.

He thought back to winter of 1995, to how those black eyes could pierce him to the core, making him feel exposed, vulnerable and at the same time excited, his cheeks flushing the instant their gazes met. To how those lips would curl over insults during lessons and how they would stretch in a smirk or a rare smile during their time alone. How those pale, stained hands massaged murtlap essence into his palm and curled around his cheek. Such a wonderful year it was, 1995. So full of happy memories, he had so many people caring for him then, Sirius, Remus, his friends… his first crush. He thought to the spring of 1996 and how he managed fuck it all up. The pensive, their first row, the ministry… _Sirius…_ And he run straight to Ginny. What a little shit he was back then. Merlin, how long ago it seemed. So much had happened since that thrice cursed spring.

That summer was full of sweet kisses, hand holding, soft curves and that sickening feeling of wrongness heavy like a lead in his stomach instead butterflies. What a little shit he was indeed. But as September came to an end he thought that things were getting better between them. He thought back to the stolen kisses in shadowed alcoves, cool hands sliding under his ragged t-shirt. The feeling of that board, hard chest pressing against his own, furtive touches stolen in empty corridors.

Those miserable Christmas when everyone went home and he was all on his own, still too bitter about Sirius’ death to celebrate. One thing led to another. A few nasty words, a few run-ins in the corridors of the deserted castle and a very tacky christmas feast that neither of them wanted to attend… and that christmas break turned out to not be miserable at all. They spent it in each other's arms, hugging, snogging, cuddling and fucking as much as they could. Trying to forget all the daunting shit that was weighing them down. During those two weeks there was no light and dark, no dark lords, no headmasters, no life and death situations and not even a Malfoy plotting terrible things could catch his attention. For those wonderful two weeks it was only the two of them and he was so happy during that time, it almost made up for all the terrible things that happened in the past months.

1997 he started on wrong foot. Why had he to use that thrice damned spell? Things between him and Severus got very strained after that accident and he had no idea how make things right again. No matter how much he apologized, how well he behaved during their lessons Severus would not speak to him, would not kiss him, barely even looked at him. It was almost as though those past few months never happened.

Then there was this one last kiss in a shadowed alcove, heated and desperate, right before he went to Dumbledore's office and then… his heart still ached for both the man he thought of as a grandfather and for the man he grew to love with all of his heart. It was easily one of the worst nights of his life.

Things only got worse after that night. Castle was in shambles, Order was a total mess with Moody, Kingsley and McGonagall fighting over who should be a leader now. Teddy’s birth was far from a happy day with Graback riding a town in Suffolk and Remus locked away in the basement for the duration of the full moon and Tonks nearly crushed his hand and made him deaf with her screams. The wedding party which turned into massacre.

Fear, coldness and hunger followed him for the rest of the year and beyond. All those months in a tent, running from the whole world that he was expected to save from a madman. After every time they were ratted out by the first wizard who spotted them he grew more resentful towards wizarding world. He wanted to tell them all to go and fuck themselves. He wanted to go back to school, walk up to Severus and leave this shit hole behind them… But he knew that the snarky potions master would never agree to this and he would never be free as long as Voldemort walked this world. Still, the feeling of hopelessness and loneliness ate at him every night.

1998 started oh so well. The sight of the silvery doe in that frosty forest still made him feel warm inside. Even if he couldn't see Severus, the mere thought that he still cared and was there for him, gave him so much strength. They made so much progress that spring. They were going to win.

And they won indeed.

First sob wracked his body with a horrible sound tearing from his throat. His heart was breaking. Those empty eyes staring at him. The smell of rotting wood, dust and blood. The feeling of those sallow cheeks against his palms.

He was ready to die then and there. He really couldn't care less whether they managed to kill the bastard or the resistance fell. He did not give two shits about this world. It would either be him or Voldemort. _Neither can leave while the other survives,_ damn right. He refused to live another day in a world where this noseless excuse of a human being lives. This would end today, he thought. He would take Voldemort down with him or die trying but _not another day longer._

Severus did not show up when he turned the stone nor would he come to greet him in the afterlife. The bastard. Even in death he would push him to the right choices. He came back, killed the shit and hoped that his wounds would be bad enough to kill him. He did not fight the darkness that came as soon as the curse hit Voldemort, welcoming it like an old friend. He was ready to cross the line for the final time. There was nothing left for him here, and yet…

Flickers of sun on the ceiling above his bed blurred as tears rolled down his face, more sobs making his sore body shake and the ache in his chest was unbearable. Those eyes… Why could he not just die? Why did he always survive? Why could it not just be over? How much more would this world demand of him?

A very put upon sigh and rustling of paper tore his mind away from those dark thoughts and for the first time since waking up he looked towards the bed next to his. Despite everything that happened he found himself a bit embarrassed to be caught in a moment of weakness… For all of three seconds that is. His body froze, eyes going wide, Harry blinked the tears from his eyes.

Among crisp white sheets in an absurd baby-blue, flowery nightgown, propped against large fluffy pillow, with at least three-centimeters-thick layer of bandages around his neck, sat one Severus Snape, flicking through a Daily Prophet. Even though his long silky hair were pulled in a ridiculous braid, which was without a doubt done against his will, the bitter man he knew and loved was sitting in a bed next to his. Very much alive and frowning, glare focused on something in the paper.

“Are you done with wallowing in self pity, Potter?” he spit out the last word in much the same voice he used in class if a bit more hoarse.


End file.
